


Mary's Boys

by through_shadows_falling



Series: Supernatural Ficlets [75]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Fluff, Holiday Reverse Bang, M/M, POV Mary Winchester, Season/Series 13 Spoilers, So much hugging lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 21:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14317719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/through_shadows_falling/pseuds/through_shadows_falling
Summary: It didn’t occur to Mary that it was May, and that Mother’s Day was right around the corner. All that mattered was being home with her boys. Home and safe.Well, as safe as you could get living in an old bunker with two hunters, an angel, and the Nephilim son of the devil.Completed for the 2018 Supernatural Holiday Reversebang.





	Mary's Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta, [jeweldancer](https://jeweldancer.tumblr.com/) and my fabulous artist [dmsilvisart](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com/)!

It didn’t occur to Mary that it was May and that Mother’s Day was right around the corner. In fact, she couldn’t care less what month it was, or what holidays existed. After the hell she’d endured in the alternate universe, all that mattered was being home with her boys.

Home and safe.

Well, as safe as you could get living in an old bunker with two hunters, an angel, and the Nephilim son of the devil. 

Mary marveled that this was her life now, though she’d had time to get used to it in the year since her revival. Still, if her past self could see her now, boy she would think Mary had gone insane. 

And what would John think?

In her room, poised on the edge of her desk chair, Mary flipped through the pages of her late husband’s journal once again. He’d written a lot, but not nearly enough to fill the space of the lives he and her sons had led in her absence. As she stared, the words blurred together as if she could read what John had left out, what he had purposely avoided recounting. There were so many monsters and so few memories. That her sweet baby boys had been wrapped up in all this—and because of her—made tears burn behind her eyes.

She blinked rapidly. No. She had to stop crying about the life she’d lost. She had to focus on the here and now, and maybe even the future if she survived long enough. 

A soft knock sounded on her bedroom door, and she closed John’s journal.

“Come in.” She sat back, expecting Sam, but instead it was the Nephilim Jack who approached, his hands behind his back carrying something. Mary caught a flash of pink, and raised an eyebrow at the boy. A gift—for her?

“Hello, Mrs. Winchester,” Jack said. He swallowed, and his gaze darted away as if nervous.

“Please call me Mary.” He’d saved her life and the lives of her sons. There was no need for formality between them.

“Right. Mary.” Jack attempted a smile. “Well, I realize this is probably odd, coming from someone like me. But I was thinking.” He paused to bite his lip—a very human gesture. He looked so young like that, standing there, unsure.

Mary took pity on him. “What’ve you got there?”

Jack blinked. “Oh this?” He switched his hands to the front and revealed a pink gift bag covered in hearts. Purple tissue paper erupted from the top with the sharp corner of a card poking out from between the folds. “I got this for you.”

“You didn’t need to do that.” Still, she accepted the present. “What’s this for?”

“Mother’s Day.”

Those two words made Mary gasp. For a moment, she recalled a bouquet of roses from John, and a handmade card from Dean saying she was the best mommy in the whole, wide world. Dean’s red handprint seared into her mind. 

Mother’s Day. What did that even mean now? Technically she was still a mother, but she didn’t quite feel like one, not when her boys were grown up and strange. Who was she to them, her sons who had grown up motherless? Some days, being brought back to life felt like a blessing. And sometimes, it was more like a curse.

Mary swallowed hard around a lump in her throat. “Thank you, Jack. That’s very kind of you.”

A grin stretched across Jack’s face. He bounced on the balls of his feet. “Well? Are you going to open it?”

Mary chuckled at his eagerness, then removed the card and tore open the envelope. Jack must’ve grabbed the first thing he found at the store. The Hallmark card bore long, flowery prose in a cursive script that swept across paper painted like pink lace. The only personalization came from Jack’s signature at the bottom—no ‘love’ or ‘XOXOs’ or anything, just ‘Jack.’ Mary smiled.

Gingerly, she plucked out the tissue paper and revealed a medium-sized box. The lump returned to her throat when she saw the picture detailing what was nestled within the cardboard—a wooden figurine of a sitting mother with a child on each knee. Jack hadn’t removed the price tag, but Mary let her eyes glance over it, abruptly overwhelmed. She set her gifts on her desk, then rose to pull Jack into an embrace. He melted into her arms. 

The Nephilim son of Lucifer. A boy who was only months old, who’d never known his own mother. How could he be so thoughtful? It had to be her own sons that were the positive influences in Jack’s short life. The thought warmed her.

“Do you like it?” Jack asked after their hug ended.

“Of course I do.” The statue was hers, and would sit in her room in the bunker to guard over her things, much like the angel figurine had watched over Dean and Sam.

“You don’t have many decorations,” Jack said, as if to further justify his purchase.

“Well, now I have a very special one.” Mary pried the statue out of the box, then set it on the shelf above her bed. “Now she’ll watch over me always.”

Jack beamed. “I thought that’s where you’d put it. I came in your room to get ideas and noticed the shelf was empty.”

Mary huffed a laugh. Figure the kid was considerate enough to remember Mother’s Day, but couldn’t quite comprehend privacy and personal space.

“Thank you so much, Jack. I love it, truly.”

As Jack scampered out the door, Mary wondered if she should expect more Mother’s Day presents. Maybe Dean would bake her something, and Sam would present her with specialized books on the type of lore she loved to read. Castiel might offer a blessing as well, perhaps even a story of ancient times and—

She shook her head. She couldn’t get ahead of herself and expect things that weren’t likely to occur. After all, though the idea made her take another deep breath, the fact remained that her boys had never celebrated Mother’s Day before, at least not one they would remember. 

Goodness, their last Mother’s Day together had been so long ago, and little Sammy had only been a week old and no longer than John’s forearm. Now Sam was so tall...what did John think of their son growing until he towered over everyone? He must’ve been amused by it, or maybe annoyed. Mary would never know.

She wandered out of her room and to the kitchen, wary of anything pink or red to indicate more surprise gifts, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. The smell of grilled cheese met her nose, and her mouth watered. Just before the archway leading inside, she paused to listen to the conversation wafting from within.

“Some people put butter on the outside,” Dean was explaining, “but between you and me, mayo gives it that added kick and really makes the outer bread crispy. Whoa, hey, don’t let it burn!” There was the sound of scraping, most likely a spatula against a frying pan.

“I thought sandwiches usually require more ingredients,” came Castiel’s deep voice. “Except for peanut butter and jelly.”

“Man, anything can be a sandwich as long as you slap it between two slices of bread. You could have just a butter sandwich if you want. I think Sam mentioned that happens in Europe. Which is weird but works I guess. Trust me on the mayo, though.”

“I believe the pan requires more butter, since the bread is sticking.”

“Ah, good call. I gotcha.”

Mary entered the kitchen, both occupants oblivious to her presence as they concentrated on their individual tasks. Castiel stood unmoving over the stove, squinting down at the half-done grilled cheese, while Dean cut a thick slab of butter. He dropped it into the frying pan, where it sizzled. Then, he pressed close to Castiel and leaned his head on Castiel’s shoulder. 

“Having a good cooking lesson?” Mary asked, and Dean startled so violently that he nearly slipped and face-planted on the linoleum.

“Geez, Mom, I didn’t hear you come in. You’re as bad as Cas.”

“Sorry.”

Dean offered her a sheepish grin, his face red. “Don’t apologize. You’d think I’d be better at sensing crap after all these years.” 

Mary’s responding smile became strained, and she noticed Dean mentally berating himself as he made a face. 

“So, grilled cheese for lunch, huh?” she started. Why was it so hard to have a conversation with her own son?

“Yep. The good ole combo of grilled cheese and store-bought tomato soup.” Dean nudged Castiel with his elbow. “Thought I should start Cas off easy.”

Castiel glared at Dean before his nostrils flared and his attention snapped back to the frying pan. He executed a flawless flip of the sandwich, but the other side had blackened slightly. 

“I burned it,” he said, and Mary had to snort. Amusing how such a powerful supernatural being could sound as petulant as a human child.

Dean peered down into the pan, now a careful distance away from Castiel. “Eh, it’s not bad. I’ll still eat it.” His posture was tense, his hands clenching and unclenching. Mary sighed. 

There was something between Dean and Castiel. She’d noticed it more and more as she spent time with them, as much as Dean tried to hide it. They liked to touch each other even unconsciously, with some gestures grazing while others lingered. Then, when they stared at each other, energy crackled through the air. 

Oh, did Mary know about that kind of tension. Did she ever think her son would be gay, or fall for a non-human creature? Of course not, but if Castiel brought out a softer side to the hardened hunter that was Dean, who was she to judge? Love was love, even if they might not have admitted it to themselves yet. But were they really so blind that they couldn’t see what was right in front of them?

It wasn’t like with her and John—she’d fallen fast and hard for him, and embraced their relationship from the beginning. Then again, it was easier, being a man and a woman together. She fought to remember how John had felt about homosexuality, but nothing came to mind. Had he caused Dean to fear being himself? Is that why Dean couldn’t take the next step with Castiel, or was it the ‘angel’ part that complicated matters? 

Was it  _ her _ presence that made Dean uncomfortable? Most likely yes, as Dean kept swaying into Castiel’s bubble, then shooting her a look and deliberately stepping back. Her heart ached.

“Did you heat up the soup?” she asked, and when Dean said no, she set about finding the cans, opening them, and pouring the contents into a pot to put on the stove next to Castiel’s frying pan. It was Campbell’s soup, of course, and she thought of her father joking about it being the ‘family brand.’ A stab of grief shot through her, even though her parents had been dead for a long time. They’d had such a big falling out when she left hunting, but she still missed them—not as much as she missed John, but they were family. She’d always regretted that Dean and Sam would never know their grandparents.

Mary glanced up at the sound of footsteps as Sam paced into the kitchen, his cheeks flushed and sweat beading his brow. He wore a jogging outfit, and swiped a towel across his face. 

“Hey,” he said, then gave Mary the soft smile he seemed to reserve solely for her. 

Her youngest’s warm expression chased away her dark thoughts, and Mary grinned. “How was the run?”

“Good. It’s nice out. Maybe we can go for a walk later?” 

“I’d like that.” The bunker didn’t quite feel like home, not yet, and she enjoyed the fresh air when she could get it. She missed their sprawling yard in Lawrence, where Dean had run through the grass chasing insects that flitted through the air. 

Jack bounded into the kitchen, buoyant as only a child could be—even one in the body of a teenager. He stopped next to Sam and regarded them all, expectant. “Well?”

Dean shot him an annoyed look. “Well what? Lunch will be done in five minutes.”

“No, I’m not talking about lunch.” Jack rocked back on his heels. “I was just wondering what kind of gifts you got for your mother.”

“Huh?” Dean grunted. His gaze flickered from Jack to Mary. Sam appeared equally confused, while Castiel remained with his back turned, attentive to their grilled cheeses. The next few came out golden brown, and Mary could just make out the satisfied upturn of his lips. 

“It’s Mother’s Day,” Jack said. He pointed at the calendar tacked to the far wall. 

Both Sam and Dean froze like deer in headlights. They started to speak at the same time, but Mary cut them off. “Don’t worry about it. You didn’t need to get me anything.” She waved her hand dismissively to prove her point.

Jack’s brows furrowed. “But I thought it was customary to give gifts on holidays like Mother’s Day?”

“Well, yes,” Mary began, “but we’ve all been busy, and it’s fine. I didn’t even realize it was Mother’s Day.” She offered her sons what she hoped was a placating smile. “Honestly, I don’t expect anything. Please don’t feel like you have to go out of your way. I’m just happy to be here, eating grilled cheese and soup with my boys.” 

Despite her words, Sam and Dean both seemed to shrink before Dean’s face resolved into determination. 

“No. We’ll get you something, Mom. You deserve it.” Dean paused to scratch at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. We, uh, don’t do much for holidays around here.” 

She’d gathered that, after celebrating Sam’s birthday with a few beers and a day-old cake from the grocery store.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mary started, but Sam interrupted her.

“He’s right. We should’ve realized what day it was.” His massive shoulders slumped. “Sorry, Mom.”

Mary sighed before approaching Sam and tugging him into a sweaty hug. He was so tall, she’d had to adjust how she hugged to make sure she went under his arms instead of over, as she was used to.

“Hey Dean, can I talk to you for a minute?” Sam asked once they’d separated, and Dean followed him to the hallway. Their voices echoed out, lively but indecipherable. 

“Good job with the sandwiches,” Mary said to Castiel as he turned off the burner. 

“Thank you. I like to think I’m getting okay at cooking. I do wish I had known more when I was human, though.”

Mary was taken aback. “You were human?”

Castiel nodded, and as Jack joined them in setting up for lunch, Castiel told his story about being human a few years back. 

“Microwaves are truly an incredible invention, though they do produce odd textures sometimes,” Castiel concluded. 

Jack appeared thoughtful. “I didn’t realize there were so many things you could make in a microwave.”

Sam and Dean returned just as they finished with the spread for lunch. Mary sipped on soup while Sam sat next to Jack on the bench across from her. Dean took up the seat next to Castiel so he was two spots away from Mary. They dug into their food—except for Castiel, who simply watched. The kitchen quickly filled with the sounds of slurping, chewing, and spoons clinking against porcelain.

Mary eyed her boys with raised brows. “I take it you’ve formed some sort of plan to surprise me? You really don’t have to, you know.”

Sam smiled at her. “We don’t have to, but we want to. I know it’s kinda bad that we didn’t do this ahead of time but...I think you’re gonna like it.”

“You won’t get anything till tonight though,” Dean said, his mouth full. He swallowed loudly. “Got some...stuff to do first.”

“I can’t convince you not to bother?”

Sam chuckled. “No way. We’re committed now.”

Mary shook her head. “Fine, I give up. My only request? No spa treatments or manicures please.” She held up her hands. “Could you imagine trying to handle a gun, knives even, with fake nails?”

Dean hefted a shoulder. “Eh. I’ve seen it done.”

“Really?”

Dean launched into a tale of a hunter he’d met in Oklahoma, which ended in Mary laughing until her abs ached. Even Castiel smiled beside her, his gaze locked on Dean. 

Sam caught her glance, and rolled his eyes at his brother. Mary made a mental note to get Sam’s take on Dean and Castiel’s relationship. Sam probably knew something she didn’t about their situation. Of course, Considering Dean’s romantic prospects made her wonder about Sam. Did he have a girlfriend...boyfriend? He acted like a parent to Jack, but didn’t seem to have anyone else in his life. Mary hoped he was happy, though she knew from experience that the hunter life was a lonely one. 

After lunch, Jack volunteered to clean up while Sam and Dean departed in the Impala. Sam apologized for not being able to walk with her, although Castiel said he could be his replacement. 

Outside, the air was warm, and the scent of flowers floated on the breeze. Mary closed her eyes and tilted her head back to bask in the sunshine. Castiel hovered near her, though he’d stooped down to investigate a bee pollinating a clover. 

“It’s so strange to be alive again,” she said. “Strange, but good.”

“I know the feeling. I have died and been brought back many times.”

“What?” Mary’s eyes opened as she stared at Castiel in alarm.

Castiel stood up. “I’d rather not discuss it, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Mary knew her boys got into epic, world-ending scrapes, but someone like Castiel had died—multiple times? She shook her head. It was Mother’s Day. She should concentrate on more positive things. 

They traipsed down the windy, dirt road that led to the bunker. There wasn’t much to see, but she liked to breathe in the warm air and feel alive in her own body, as out of time as it was. 

“Castiel, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Mary.”

“Are you in love with my son?”

Mary kept walking until she realized Castiel had halted a few steps behind her. She turned to him, and his expression was one of deep conflict and insecurity. 

“I...I’m not sure how to answer that question,” he said at last. “I assume you’re asking about Dean?” Mary nodded, and they continued at a sedate pace, neither of them speaking. Castiel remained deep in thought, but finally spoke up. “What you ask is...complicated.”

“Am I making it complicated?”

“No.”

Mary raised an eyebrow at him.

“Not entirely,” Castiel conceded. “It’s just that Dean is...a complex man, and he sometimes has trouble allowing himself to have the things that he wants.”

“And what about you? What do you want?”

A wry grin tugged at Castiel’s lips. “That in itself is complicated. I’m an angel. I should not want what I want. I was not made to love anyone except my father and my siblings.” He met Mary’s gaze. “But I do love your sons, both of them in unique ways. They’re my family now.”

“Then you’re my family, too.” Mary placed her hands on Castiel’s shoulder, then pulled him into a hug. She’d never hugged an angel before, and she smiled when he tentatively returned her embrace. It was her sons who must have taught him this affectionate gesture. Sam and Dean, who were fierce hunters, but who loved equally fiercely. 

“Is Sam happy, do you think?” she asked after they separated and started to head back toward the bunker.

Castiel tilted his head, considering. “I think he’s still finding his way. But he’s happy for the moment, yes.”

And that was all Mary needed to hear. It was Mother’s Day, and her boys were happy despite the pain and heartache of their difficult lives. That was the only gift she wanted.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, until Sam and Dean finally returned with a large, wrapped box. After a pizza dinner, Mary sat at the table and opened it. Inside was a photo album, and tears pricked her eyes as she navigated each painstakingly crafted page. There were old pictures and new, photos she’d never seen of the boys growing up, and photos of them now as adults laughing with their friends. 

And John, John appeared, too, as did Bobby Singer and a number of other strangers who’d raised her sons after she died. 

Mary traced the edges of a photo taken of the four of them, the Winchester family before everything changed. Dean with his chubby smile, John with a proud glint in his eyes, baby Sam blinking sleepily, and Mary herself radiant with joy at the life she’d made for herself. 

A few moments went by before she realized Sam and Dean were poised near her, waiting for her reaction. She sniffled, then stood and gestured for them to hug her. They squeezed her hard, and she laughed before nodding to Castiel and Jack. 

“Come on. A family hug means you, too.”

And then she was laughing and pretending to gasp for air. 

“Happy Mother’s Day, Mom,” Sam whispered into her ear. The four of them released her, and she caught Dean wiping quickly at his eyes. 

“Yeah, Mom, Happy Mother’s Day.” Dean clapped a hand on her shoulder. “We’re damn happy to have you back.”

“Well, I’m damn happy to be back,” she said, and she meant it.


End file.
